


Double Stuffed Gardenia

by Anonymous



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Being chosen by a god means never having to say 'refractory period', Consensual filth, Fat Fetishism, Feeding Kink, Grown men having a good time, M/M, Slob kink, Tapu Bulu lurking in the background up to no good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-19 01:52:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11303286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Nanu gains weight for reasons as yet unknown. Looker fucking loves it.





	Double Stuffed Gardenia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aseansensasean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aseansensasean/gifts).



The rain starts pelting down on him within three steps onto Route 17, but he turns up his collar and makes a dash through the dark night and patches of hazy orange street light. His errand is too important to balk at a few rain drops.

Thunder rumbles lazily overhead as he darts from tree-cover to the decommissioned Po Town police station, and raindrops slither down the back of his neck and bring a welcome thrill of coolness. Even the rain is warm in Alola, but he’s been rushing and is warmer now than it is. He should perhaps choose another outfit for the remainder of his stay in the tropical region, but trench coat and vest have served him like a uniform for many years and he is… shy. If he must admit it. At looking like an outsider and feeling like one at the same time.

The locals know he is a sightseer; he may as well wear the clothes he is comfortable wearing. ...And considering how much time he hopes to spend around Po Town, the water-resistance of his trench coat may serve him well.

He is safe and dry inside the police station, at least, and he is shaking his coat out on the doorway before he even turns to look inside.

“What is wrong, Zer-- ah, Nanu? You sounded quite worried over the--”

He turns, and sees, and the coat falls from his hand a good foot away from the rack that he was reaching for.

“..it’s real, isn’t it,” Nanu says, looking up at him from his seat with a half-lidded expression of resignation.

“You look very good,” Looker says instantly. For one, it is what one says in this circumstance. For another, he means it.

“This isn’t normal.” Nanu looks down at his crossed arms. They rest on the slight swell of his gut, which pooches out above his belt-- Looker’s trained eye notes that it is fastened four inches looser than the usual length, as easily deduced by seeing where the sliding buckle has worn away at the fiber.

“No. I have never known you to be, uh.” He clears his throat. “What is the word. You have always been… compact.”

“Tiny? Scrawny?” Nanu suggests easily. He leans back in his chair, making it creak.

“Yes. That.”

Nanu’s short sleeves are tight around his upper arms, making divots in the soft flesh. Looker catches himself staring and jerks his eyes back to his friend’s face.

“It started two days ago.” Nanu uncrosses his arms to gesture one handed at himself. The movement shows how tightly stretched his overshirt is across his shoulders. “I woke up and I was starving. Thirsty, too. Didn’t think much of it, I guess. Some days I’m hungry. But you know, it just didn’t stop. And now everything’s tight.”

“Yes,” Looker breathes. “I mean, yes. I see that. It must be distressing. Two days is--” incredible “--far too short a time. Why have you called me?”

His brain has constructed several crystal-clear scenarios, all the possible things that Nanu could want of him, but they are not… likely to be the real reasons.

“Well, I don’t think I’m sick. It could be some kind of prank, I guess? You’ve seen as many dream crime and psychic crime reports as I have. I wanted your opinion.” Nanu clears his throat. “And I don’t really want to go out like this.”

“No? It’s not so bad.” Nanu looks wonderful. Looker has always thought his old partner could stand to eat more, real food not salty vending machine trash, and put on some healthy weight. This is very… very healthy indeed.

“You’re joking.”

“No, I -- nevermind.” He must be helpful. And stop staring at the line of pale flesh that peeks between t-shirt hem and trouser waist. “Have you done the standard tests?”

“All of them I could. I wanted to check you out, too, just in case.”

“Of course.”

That’s simple enough; Nanu is a dark type trainer, and many dark types are quite canny when faced with psychic attacks. Nanu hauls himself to his feet-- the thighs of his trousers go tight with the motion and Looker’s mouth goes dry.

“ _Sacré Xerneas._ ”

“You say something?”

“No?” It comes out as an unfortunate squeak.

What if this _is_ his fault? Dream crime indeed. He did have the most gratifying dream the other night. Sweet grass and flowering vines. Dappled sunlight on a vast expanse of naked, shadow-pale skin, heavy-lidded red eyes.

He braces himself up bravely as Nanu chooses an ultraball from the group of balls on the side table, calling out a snow-white pokémon with a black and enigmatic face-- ah, an absol. Wise and quite sensitive to danger and attacks.

It knows what it is about; Nanu must have explained before, and it doesn’t even look at its trainer before it slinks over to Looker and sniffs him, then leans its sharp single horn lightly against his stomach.

He holds still, barely daring to breathe, as it considers him. But much sooner than he expects it turns away.

“Sol!” it tells Nanu, cheerfully.

“No, huh? Fairy type, maybe?”

“Absol.” A negative. Then it looks Nanu up and down, and pads over to give him a delicate sniff. “Sol…”

“...really. Harmful?”

Another negative sound. In fact, the dark type seems to like whatever it senses, bumping its head against Nanu’s swollen stomach, carefully keeping its horn from denting that… soft… flesh… Looker jerks his eyes up again.

“Hnnnn. Right. Absol, return.” Nanu looks ruefully down at the pokeball as it shrinks back to quiescence in his hand. “He’s as sensitive a psychic detector as any I know. Not an attack or a prank, I guess. Fairy type energy, though. I wonder...” He sets the ball down and stands at a loss.

“It-- is it painful? Unpleasant?”

“No. No, it actually--” he stops himself, whatever he was going to say. “...I’m thirsty, you want something?”

“No, thank you.”

Nanu shuffles into the converted breakroom that serves him for kitchenette, stepping habitually over the sleeping meowth that has claimed an old pizza box for a bed, in lieu of the actual pokémon bed on the counter an arms length away, and Looker trails after him. He is a bit worried that his friend will turn to alcohol, but instead Nanu fills a dented plastic bottle with water and drinks, right there at the sink. There is no pause for breath; he swallows slowly and luxuriously and some of the water spills from his mouth and falls to darken-- yes, the tightened chest of his t-shirt. Looker isn’t just imagining that.

Nanu fills the bottle again, making an obscene sound of enjoyment, and tips his head back once more. His free hand rests on his stomach which almost visibly swells as he fills it. Looker watches breathlessly as his thumb idly slips under his t-shirt, dipping in and out of view as it strokes the curve of his stomach.

Then his hand slips down over his belt and gently squeezes the bulge between his legs.

Looker can’t restrain his gasp.

Nanu stops caressing himself, stops drinking-- spilling more water down his front, oh, how careless, how very pretty and unfettered-- and looks down at his hand as if it has betrayed him.

“Yeah, that keeps happening too.”

“Does it.”

“Yeah, I keep catching myself eating and… that.”

“Oh.” The syllable is a pathetic whimper. He can’t stop himself from imagining that. His beautiful old partner taking entire handfuls of his filthy vending machine food and licking the crumbs from his hand with that cool, dominant expression, idly using that same filthy hand to pleasure--

Nanu is staring at him, waiting.

“What-?” Looker says, clearing his throat.

“I said have you ever seen anything like this before?”

“Not in--” hand wave. What are words. “Reality. Actuality. Never in life.”

“But a myth?” Nanu’s gaze lances into him. “Urban legend? Come on, KR. Focus.”

He mumbles out something, and then as Nanu’s gaze becomes knife-sharp, blurts out: “Pornography.”

He can feel his entire body wilting, all except the traitorous erection that most needs to make a hasty disappearance.

“Right.” One of Nanu’s eyebrows quirks. “Okay. Noted.” And then, of course, that piercing gaze dips below Looker’s belt. “... _Noted._ That’s why you’ve been so weird, huh?”

“Yes. I, um, yes.”

“Huh.” Nanu is unreadable. He massages his gut thoughtfully, and then strides past Looker without a glance back, out of the kitchen and into the next room, blocked from view from the front. Looker hears the springs of the foldout couch creak as a heavy weight drops into them.

Shameful, he’s a trained agent of the international police and he needs to control himself and help his friend with this… dilemma. Problem. However Looker feels about it, it is causing his friend distress and he has to--

“KR?”

“Yes? I’m coming.”

Nanu is sprawled on the couch with a care-free, regal air that entirely befits an island king. The pair of meowth draped across the back of the couch to the side of him aren’t entirely unfitting. A little offputting, but at least they don’t seem to care that Looker is losing all the blood from his brain and going weak in the knees.

Nanu has undone his belt another inch, and unbuttoned the button of his trousers. There is a triangle of white cotton below his belt now, the zipper pulling open under the strain.

“I was thinking maybe I could walk some of it off, but I’m starving, and you won’t shut up about that restaurant-- I’ve lost you again, haven’t I.”

“Yes, I’m sorry, excuse me.”

He takes a step forward, another, and then falls to his knees as if struck. No power in the heavens or on earth could stop him from leaning in to rest his face against Nanu’s bare stomach now.

“Hey, pull yourself together--”

Nanu is not entirely unaffected, Looker finds, and he drags his lips over the threadbare cotton that covers his friend’s erection.

“--well, fine, I guess, not like I’m on a tight schedule,” Nanu grunts, and his hand falls on the back of Looker’s neck like a benediction.

Looker only pauses to wrench that tight belt the rest of the way free, and Nanu’s belly sags into a more natural curve, creating a slight secondary roll of pudge under his briefs. That must be kissed and so it is, and then the lovely flesh of the stomach, and he noses up under the red t-shirt to find more. It is a little sour with sweat, but not unpleasantly so, and there is old salt under his tongue as he licks up.

“Other direction, Looker!”

“Mm. You said we were not in a hurry.”

“I’m in a hurry now,” Nanu grumbles. “All right, give me a hand.” He grunts and levers his hips up, fumbling at his trousers. The tight canvas resists him; Looker has to lend his aid, sinking his fingers between cloth and skin and tugging both trousers and briefs down as Nanu squirms and writhes them down, and then all at once the trousers are down to his knees and Nanu’s thighs and groin are exposed to him.

Nanu’s face is flushed faintly with the effort of getting his trousers off and Looker is going a little insane. He lowers his gaze, not that the scenery down here is any less distracting.

The swell of his thighs is much more subtle than that delightful gut, but it is there-- yes, certainly this is softer than the last time Looker laid his face against these legs. He nips the inside of the left thigh, very satisfying, and then sucks it experimentally.

“Other direction again!”

“Impatient,” Looker croons. “Ah, beautiful. Very nice.”

“Pain in my ass, you mean.”

“Oh, your ass must be beautiful too,” Looker realizes, his breath catching. He has so much to look forward to.

“Would you just fucking blow me _oh_ \--” and then it is just swearing as Looker closes his mouth around Nanu’s cock. What a lovely language old Alolan is. So liquid.

It is decadent, it is driving him wild to have the press of fat pushing him away from his target-- teasing him, cushioning him. Saliva smears along his mouth, along Nanu’s stomach, as he mouths and sucks and draws that lovely fat cock as far down his throat as he can without choking, and then a little further than that.

“Careful-- hey, KR, hey, gorgeous, careful-- you gotta breathe and I don’t want bitemarks down there--”

He makes a muffled protest as fingers in his hair tug him away, and he surrenders his mouthful reluctantly.

“What’s gotten into you?” Nanu keeps his grip on his hair, brushing it back with short little pets.

“I want it. You’re so delicious,” he… well, he whines, it is important to be honest with oneself. “Please?”

Nanu’s erection twitches against his lips.

“Well. Crap. Okay. Damn, good-looking, you spoil me.”

Silly nickname. That joke is tiresome but from Nanu he adores it. He swallows Nanu’s cock back down, a little more carefully but no less messily, and hums blissfully as the fingers in his hair stroke and then pull, stroke and then pull.

His own trousers are getting quite tight-- he makes half an attempt to unbutton them but it proves too distracting, so he simply jams a hand in to squeeze his cock. --and that is pleasure he was unprepared for. It simply feels too good. His face slides in his own saliva and he whines again and wrings a climax out of himself and into his silky boxers, feeling sticky semen spurt out past the hem of the leg hole to glue his trousers to his skin and not caring even a little.

“Damn,” Nanu says, surprised.

Well, Looker is full of surprises and his friend should know that. He massages the last of his pleasure onto his leg and then clasps Nanu’s thigh with his sticky hand and bows his head forward until he is almost at the root of Nanu’s cock.

More liquid syllables and the occasional “Looker.” Or “Fuck.” And then, “ _Oh--_ ” and the cock pulses against his tongue and swells as if to fill his throat. He pulls back and swallows down again, and then again, even as his eyes fill with tears and he has to hold back a cough.

Nanu groans, and drags him back by his hair again, hissing a little at the suction of Looker’s greedy mouth on his over-sensitive skin.

“Mmm. Wonderful.” Not that Looker was able to taste much of it, but he can smell and feel and press his face into the aftermath and it is indeed delectable.

“You’re a mess.”

“You’re a mess,” Looker counters smugly, because he is, and it’s wonderful.

“...yeah, well, we knew that.” Nanu’s head falls back against the couch and he takes a deep breath. Another. So stoic, but he can be overcome if you know how. Looker is very proud to know how.

With a last kiss to the soft skin of Nanu’s thigh, Looker pulls himself up onto shaking legs. Ooh, that’s going to chafe, he can feel it already; the moment was sublime but the reality of cum drying in his boxers is going to cause problems soon.

“Let’s get cleaned up and… oof. Go to dinner. I’m starving.” Prompted, his stomach growls, far louder than the rain against the roof. Nanu’s cheeks go pink, but he just sighs helplessly. “Honestly, KR, I could eat a whole buffet right now and probably still ask about dessert.”

He bends to wrestle his briefs back on, and then supports himself with a grip on Looker’s shoulder as he stands and pulls his trousers back up as well. He buttons them--

\--he attempts to button them--

\--he glares downward and uses both hands to drag the fly together, inhaling hard and sucking in his gut as hard as he can--

He exhales, lets button and fastening fall apart, grits his teeth, tries again--

Looker bites down on his knuckles.

“Well, I’m glad one of us is enjoying this.” With a disgusted noise, Nanu gives up the struggle-- and after a moment of irritated consideration, he pushes the trousers down and steps out of them, kicking them spitefully a few feet away.

“My dear--” not what he meant to say. “Zer-- Nanu. Why don’t you stay here and I’ll go and bring you food back?”

“Oh, like you’re any more presentable.”

“I’ll wash off in your bathroom, I can make do, you remember, that time in Hoenn I managed to clean an entire suit after-”

“Mm-hmm.” Nanu’s hand snakes out, still so fast, and cups his soiled crotch. Oh. Oh, that’s what he meant.

Looker is hard again, like a schoolboy, from watching him struggle with his trousers. ...He might have come in his pants again if Nanu had tried to do up his shirt.

Nanu sighs and drops back on the couch, crooking a finger. “Come here. I’ll get that for you.”

“If you like.” Which is what you say when you can’t burst into joyous song.

Nanu guides him by the hips, and he stands between his friends’ spread thighs and counts his many blessings as Nanu feeds his cock out the front slit of his trousers and swallows it with the same graceful eagerness with which he drank earlier-- and Looker feels like that fortunate water bottle, he is being drunk down, he is being drained, and climax is simply there as if he’s eighteen again, making him shout and thrust and then reel back.

Nanu licks his lips, looking half-drunk and sated.

“...I have to leave,” Looker realizes. Another minute in this station watching Nanu wallow on the couch savouring the taste of his cock and he’s going to be hard _again_. “Before I can’t leave.”

“...yeah. I’m, uh, how are you feeling?”

“Amazing. Full of life.”

“Chafing? Sore?”

“No,” he realizes. Despite his earlier worry, he feels quite comfortable. Sticky, but pleased about it. No rawness. “Nothing.”

“...yeah, I know what it is now. This has happened before. Well, not _this specifically_ but the slight healing thing and the...” Nanu waves a hand between their groins to indicate that they are a pair of men well past youth who are both somehow ready for their second and third go respectively in less than an hour.

“Is it dangerous? Harmful?”

“No.” Nanu rubs the bridge of his nose. “Just a job related hazard.”

“Good, I’ll get the food.”

He leans down to kiss Nanu’s cheek-- and then flick a tongue in his ear.

“Dammit-!”

He chuckles as he goes, fetching his poor misused trenchcoat on the way out the door. ...This is another reason he wears it. It can hide a multitude of sins. Bloodstains, the smear of oil. Other fluids…

If he belts it around him and does his best to clean off in the first friendly public bathroom he finds, he won’t cause a scandal while he orders the largest box of sushi they’ll send away with him.

* * *

When he returns, forty-five minutes later-- ten of which were spent quietly holding a cold can to his groin in a secluded alley, because it is rude to ask a ride pokémon to endure being poked through the saddle, and uncomfortable for the rider-- Nanu has shed his overshirt and is eating from a scrunched bag of dubiously cheese-flavored something-or-others as he watches TV. His t-shirt is rucked up over his gut, and in his slouched position the swell of his chest is outlined clearly under the dark fabric.

Traces of fine yellow powder stain his fingers, lips, and stomach. There are incriminating orange fingerprints on the crotch of his briefs, and the more incriminating stains and stink of self-pleasure. Several instances of self-pleasure, by the volume of those stains, Looker judges. The elastic waistband of the filthy underthings is straining.

“I think you’ve gotten bigger,” Looker says, disbelieving. And he, or parts of him, are swiftly getting bigger as well. Look at that. Look at the shadowy old agent, the debauched kahuna. How perfect. He wants to lick him head to foot.

For the moment, he simply toes his shoes off at the door. Last time he was too shocked to remember to do so, unforgivably rude, he tracked mud in, he won’t do it again. This time he’s going to do things perfectly.

“Wouldn’t be surprised. If it’s the fairy type I’m thinking of, there’s nothing to do but ride it out until I get a summons and find out what it’s about.”

“I… see.” He doesn’t. Or, he doesn’t see all of it. Not yet. He’s very much looking forward to it.

“I’d invite you to watch television, but I’m sure that’s not how you planned on spending your night.” Nanu resignedly takes another bite of cheese puff.

“Not on watching television, no.” There’s so much of a purr in his voice that one of the meowth looks up at him in confusion. “Nanu, beautiful man, what have I told you about eating that garbage?”

“I don’t know. What have I told you about being literally the human authority on this island who can eat what he wants?”

“Mm. No. My dear.” He sets down the bag of food and sheds his coat, tossing it over a chair near the pile of Nanu’s discarded clothes.

He steps in front of Nanu’s view of the television, forcing him to meet his gaze. Nanu straightens, shifting back on the couch warily.

“You need to understand this. I care about your health.”

He sinks onto the other man’s lap, straddling his soft thighs, nestling his own groin into the swell of Nanu’s stomach-- and oh does he plan to return to this position, once his trousers are off-- and looks him square in the face. “For every bite you eat of that salty machine _shit_ , I am going to feed you two bites of real food. That was cooked from actual ingredients by an actual cook sometime during the the last twenty-four hours. Do you understand? For your health. And I don’t care if you ever fit into any of your clothes again.”

“...this seems like an overstep of your jurisdiction,” Nanu says, and his voice is dry but his eyes are hot and his mouth has pulled up to show his teeth in a one-sided smirk.

Not breaking eye contact, the island-king deliberately pops another cheese-whatsit into his mouth.

“Well? Come on, already.”


End file.
